


It's the Little Things That...

by micehell



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Humor, M/M, touch of crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-25
Updated: 2011-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:18:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur had never really been prone to certain stereotypes... until <i>it</i> showed up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's the Little Things That...

**Author's Note:**

> We're back to Bush for the title, but it made me laugh, especially considering the last line in the fic (and then the word that follows the ellipsis). ;)

One of the things Curt appreciated about Arthur (besides _certain_ physical attributes... well, and the way he used them) was that he was never really that much a stereotype. Sure, he was more yuppie than any sane person should be, but there was no swish or flamboyancy about him besides that, and as much as Curt had been part of the glam movement, the parts of it that had been in that vein... well, those he really could have done without. So living with a guy who didn't even own one single sequin, animal print, or other far-too-fluffy type of thing was a blessing, really.

A blessing that came to a screeching halt one day when Curt came back in from some studio work and found _it_. _It_ was small and delicately pastel with far too large eyes, and was beyond annoyingly _sweet_. Clearly the work of Satan. _It_ certainly hadn't been there when he'd left earlier. Trying not to jump to horrible conclusions (after all, it could be the work of some weird demonic burglar who broke into people's houses and left possessed knickknacks behind that later came to life and killed the inhabitants in strange and gruesome ways), Curt asked in a perfectly reasonable (and not at all terrified) voice, "Arthur, what's this _thing_ on the bookshelf?"

Arthur answered, "It's a Precious Moments figurine," in a tone that totally failed to convey the horror of what he'd said.

Slowly and still perfectly reasonably (because he wasn't sure yet if it was a matter of Arthur already being possessed or just stupid), Curt asked, "What's it doing on the bookshelf? In our living room? In our house? On the fucking planet?"

"It's cute," Arthur answered happily. "I'm thinking about getting more," he continued, in a way that totally failed to disguise the utter stereotype he'd become.

Curt sighed, realizing (tragically) that it was obviously possession and stupidity _both_.

~*~

As much as he hated the (ever increasing number of) figurines, Curt didn't really feel he had much room to complain. He'd cleared out a lot of his weird junk when they'd moved into the house, but he still had five kewpie dolls that he kept on his side of their bedroom, and he had to admit they were ugly as hell (though thankfully lacking in the cloyingly, Satan-inspired _sweetness_ , at least).

It wasn't until there were figurines in every room of the house, including their bedroom, _sweetly_ and malevolently crouching on all available surfaces, that the real problem finally reared _its_ tiny little porcelain head.

Curt first became aware of it when Arthur pushed him down on the bed and started licking his way down Curt's chest, clearly a man with a mission. Normally this would have been something that Curt wholeheartedly encouraged (complete with verbal encouragement and a helping hand to show him the way if he started to get distracted). But that day, something was off. Maybe it was the years he'd spent on the street, where always being aware of your surroundings was a necessity, or maybe it was being in the public eye so long, and being used to the feel of being watched, but Curt could feel eyes on him. Small, delicately pastel and far too large eyes.

He put a hand in Arthur's hair, but instead of showing him the way, he pulled it back up to look at him. "They're watching us."

Arthur, either not as perceptive about being stared at or deeply focused (or even just oblivious due to the possession and stupidity), distractedly asked, "What?" while trying to go back to what he'd been doing.

Which, again, Curt would normally be completely behind (or even in front of), if it weren't for the fact that he knew the little spawns of Satan were watching, potentially waiting to catch them at their most defenseless, or perhaps even taking notes on the sex in hopes of reproducing themselves (which, with the amount of them in the bedroom alone, might have already happened... though how watching _Curt and Arthur_ having sex would help that, was anyone's guess). He pulled the covers up over his chest, blocking both the unwelcome eyes and Arthur's rather determined assault of his left nipple. "The evil creatures you call Precious Moments figurines are watching us, Arthur. Can't you feel it?"

Arthur looked up at him, wiping blanket lint off his tongue. There was a look in his eyes that he usually reserved for when Curt explained why cheese in a spray can was one of the signs of a truly advanced society. "Curt, they're just porcelain figurines. They can't actually see us."

Curt snorted, amazed at Arthur's simplicity sometimes. "Then why are they watching us so intently?"

The entire conversation rapidly sunk into a Lewis and Martin routine from there, only ending when Curt decided to take his chances sleeping on the sun lounge on the patio and Arthur shouting that he was going to show the figurines how he masturbated, since at least that way he'd have a sane partner.

Curt fell asleep with the plastic head cushion on the lounge digging into his cheek and the soft sound of evil porcelain laughter ringing in his ears. _Precious Moments figurines_ 1, _Curt's love life_ 0.

~*~

The stalemate continued on for weeks, with the only satisfaction anyone got being the evil-rine's (as Curt had taken to calling them, just for simplicity's sake) cockblocking joy. By the time Curt's balls had achieved the delicate blue of the original evil-rine's far too large eyes, he'd had enough. When Arthur came home that night, it was to a house devoid of any figurines, evil or otherwise, but also sporting the new butcher block kitchen island Arthur had been lusting after for months.

One of the _other_ things that Curt really appreciated about Arthur was that he didn't ask questions he already knew the answers to, so there was no pointless _where are my figurines?_ or _did you actually sell my figurines off to buy me the kitchen island?_ or _do you want to christen the new butcher block kitchen island (that my yuppie soul has been dying for) by my fucking you right on top of it?_ , and instead he just said _fair trade_ and got right on with the fucking. Which Curt (and his now normal colored balls) appreciated mightily.

~*~

Curt was so caught up in _appreciating_ the new kitchen island that he failed to notice one thing. In the corner, partially hidden by the cookbooks that Arthur never really ever used, was the glint of overly big, delicately pastel eyes. Watching... and waiting.

/story


End file.
